A MOTHER’S ORDEAL.

Taranaki Daily News, 15 December 1922, Page 2 (Supplement)

A MOTHER’S ORDEAL.

AN EXPERIENCE IN THE NIGHT. (Written by Miss Samuels, New Plymouth.) About fifty years ago, on the outskirts of what is now Westown, lived a soldier farmer and his family. It was during one of those lulls when people, thinking peace had come at last, had returned to their homes and work. One dark, rough night, little Leslie, the farmer’s elder child, was taken very ill. The father said he would carry him to the doctor’s on horseback. The roads were too rough to travel any other way. A short while after they had gone the dog barked furiously, straining at its chain to get loose. Mrs. McKenna tremblingly peeped out of one of the front windows. She could just distinguish several dark objects moving about. “My God! It is the Maoris!” she gasped, crouching back terrified against the wall. The terrible massacre at the White Cliffs flashed like lightning through her mind. Sarah, her little four-year-old daughter, awakened with the barking, called out in fright from her cot. Mrs. McKenna, suddenly electrified, rushed iti to her baby, and snatching her up in her arms whispered frantically, “Hush, darling, hush!” Putting the light out she crept stealthily out of the back door, crawling on her hands and knees till she reached the bush that surrounded their house. “It is our only chance!” she muttered faintly. “Wa is we going, mummie?” little Sarah asked. “Hush, dear,” Mrs. McKenna whispered frantically, adding as an afterthought, “The fairies will hear you and run away.” Little Sarah, afraid almost to breathe, peeped eagerly over her mother’s shoulder, expecting every ; minute to see one of the little people dancing about, while her mother, expecting someone far different, stared shudderingly to right and left. At last, worn with fatigue and fright, the poor woman crept up close to a big miro tree surrounded with dense undergrowth. “Do the fairies live here, mummy?” Sarah whispered ever so softly. “I hope so, dear,” Mrs. McKenna whispered back. She was Irish and half believed in fairies herself. A few minutes later little Sarah peacefully dozed off to sleep. Her mother gently laid her down on the soft ferns, and kneeling down, silently prayed to God to protect them. For a time, she was comforted, feeling | sure that God had heard and would answer her prayers. Then, came the thought of those others again, and she knew that they, too, must have prayed, but God had never answered theirs. The moments wearily dragged on. To i the terrified woman, every falling twig j was the enemy stealthily creeping up, every tiny twitter, of some bird suddenly awakened, was their triumphant war-cry. She longed to scream, but knew that she dared not. She thought of her husband, who would soon be riding innocently into the death trap, and she knew that she must somehow reach him before he came home. She would have to cross through the bufili where the Maoris were to get to the road. She hesitated a moment, wondering whether to take the baby or leave her sleeping there.

At last, she decided to leave her where she was, saying to herself, that if the Maoris caught her, which was likely, little Sarah would at least stand a chance of escaping. Stooping down, she tucked the blanket closer round her darling, and softly kissing her bright fluffy hair, begged the fairies to watch over her, then stealthily stole away. Step by step, she drew nearer and nearer, her heart thumping so that she had to press her hands against it. Life had never seemed so good to her as it did then. Every little ordinary every day duty seemed to grow suddenly into a delightful pleasure. She wondered miserably if she and her husband were killed if anyone would love and care for her children, or if they would be knocked and flung about from pillar to post.

She was so near now that she could dimly see the dog as he madly flung himself backwards and forwards. She caught a fleeting glimpse of other dark forms too. Her legs trembled so that she had to steady herself against a tree for a moment.

The moon suddenly shone out through the clouds, and she shrank further back into the shadows. Sick with fear, she slowly made herself look in the direction of the enemy again. She stared incredulously again and again, unable to believe her eyes. Then, laughing tremulously, she ran back through the bush to where her baby was peacefully sleeping. Sarah drowsily asked as her mother joyfully lifted her up, “Is the fairies come yet, mummie?”

“Yes, dear, and they’ve turned all the wicked, dark men into calves,” Mrs. McKenna replied, laughing hysterically. You see, the calves had broken into the front paddock, much to the indignation of their inveterate enemy, old Snap!—An actual incident.